


brave enough to tell you

by noodlecatposts



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Post-Canon, Romantic Fluff, Tumblr Prompt, tagging is hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:42:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21996202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noodlecatposts/pseuds/noodlecatposts
Summary: She’d come to the conclusion that some blasted pot wasn’t going to tell her who was her One and Only; Elain would decide for herself. And Elain had, or so, she thought she had. It was confusing; it was exciting. It was terrifying.
Relationships: Elain Archeron/Azriel, Feyre Archeron/Rhysand, Lucien Vanserra/Vassa
Comments: 7
Kudos: 80





	brave enough to tell you

**Author's Note:**

> Don't mind me. I'm feeling a little soft and mushy today. Enjoy some Elriel! :)
> 
> All errors are my own; I'm a lazy editor tonight. *shrugs*

Elain had had quite a bit to drink this evening. The warm amber liquid that Cassian kept bringing her burnt like hell on the way down, but it settled into her stomach nice and warmly. She liked it; she wanted to have some more.

“Easy there, El,” Cassian tells her, even as he watches her take another drink. His grins like a fiend in her direction. “You might drink Velaris out of the good stuff at the rate you’re going.”

Elain snorts. The sound isn’t delicate or sweet, but it makes Cassian’s smile grow. “I think I’ll leave that momentous task to you, General.”

Cassian throws his head back in amusement; his laugh is deep and rich as he slams his palm on the bar top. Elain smiles with him, pleased by his reaction. “With grave sincerity, I accept the responsibility.”

Elain looks away from his twinkling eyes long enough to take in the scene before her. The Inner Circle has taken over Rita’s for the evening, celebrating the end of the Hybern War with their citizens. It’s been decades now, but the people of Velaris, and its leaders alike, can still recall that somber day that the war came to Velaris, shattered its borders and claimed lives. It still haunted them, returned to them on dark occasions. 

But not tonight. Tonight, Velaris celebrated; tonight, Velaris remembered.

Elain smiles as her eyes fall upon her younger sister. Feyre is leaning heavily upon her mate, wearing the kind of crooked smile that’s made many a fae happy for the existence of their High Lord and Lady’s daemati powers. Nothing going through that female’s head is appropriate for polite company at this time.

Rhys stands up a little straighter at whatever words pass between them; his eyes remain steadfast on the faerie in front of him, but the party will likely be losing their host and hostess very soon if the sparkle in the High Lord’s eye is anything to go by.

“Cassian,” the Morrigan cries, sliding into the booth beside Elain and wrapping her arms around the seer. Elain smiles at the blonde’s antics. “Don’t hog Ellie all to yourself!”

Mor tugs at Elain’s arm, “Let’s go dancing!”

Morrigan is a tough female to deny, and so, Elain soon finds herself spinning about on the dance floor, laughing and singing along poorly to the words of the music. Mor’s laughter and energy encourage her, and Elain decides for once that she’ll just let go. Admittedly, it might have something to do with alcohol.

Cassian joins them soon, wrapping Elain into his embrace and twirling her around the dance floor. Elain giggles, letting Cassian lead her through a few steps that she doesn’t know.

“My turn!” Morrigan pleads, and Elain passes off her dance partner to the other female, ready to take a break. Cassian sweeps away with Mor, while Elain slips off into the crowd, making her way back towards their table. That’s where she finds Lucien, drinking alongside the High Lord and Lady, and looking terribly uncomfortable.

“They’re doing that thing they do, aren’t they?” Elain asks Lucien. The redhead grimaces in her direction, his way of telling her that he’s right. She spares him a smile, then glares in reprimand at the couple.

“Go be gross somewhere else,” Elain shoos them. Feyre bursts into laughter and Rhys’s lips twitch with amusement, turns his mischievous eyes on his sister-in-law.

“Elain, that’s no way to talk to the leaders of your court,” Rhys purrs, humor lining his voice. Both of them look drunk, on alcohol, and each other. Elain wrinkles her nose at the smell.

“But it _is_ how you talk to family,” Elain waves at them, urging them off. Feyre wiggles her eyebrows at Rhys, and the two disappear without another word.

“You’re my savior,” Lucien tells her, looking pleased. She flushes at the compliment, smiles.

“All in a day’s work,” Elain informs, waving over a server and acquiring another drink. She ignores the way her mate raises a single brow in her direction. He’s one to judge.

Mate. Lucien is her mate. They’d rejected the bond years ago, after decades of trying to puzzle the whole thing out. Elain, herself, went through many phases while trying to decipher her feelings. She remembers them all clearly: resentment of the bond for existing, anger at it for ruining everything, disappointment when it wasn’t what she’d thought it would be, and then, lastly, resignation.

She’d come to the conclusion that some blasted pot wasn’t going to tell her who was her One and Only; Elain would decide for herself.

And Elain had, or so, she thought she had. It was confusing; it was exciting. It was terrifying.

“I suppose I ought to be going,” Lucien told her after a while of drinking in silence together. They were friends in the end. Elain would always have his back, and Lucien would always have hers.

Because Lucien felt similarly. He’d been disappointed, as well, to find that the bond wasn’t as magical as he thought it would be. That predestination wasn’t all it was cut out for, but Lucien had fallen for Vassa years ago, had spent all of that time, and more, dancing around the truth of their relationship. Now he was free of reasons to ignore it, to avoid it.

“Tell Her Majesty, I said hello,” Elain tells Lucien with a sly smile. The male blushes to her delight. Because when all was said and done, Lucien would never be able to hide anything from Elain—they were matched by the cauldron, rejected though it was.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he grumbles, vanishes a moment later. The coward.

Elain smiles into her drink, taking another sip. Whatever faerie liquor this was, Elain was hooked. She’d need to ask Cassian for the name; so, she could buy some to stock her apartment with.

“Mind if I join you?” The voice is familiar to Elain, more so than her own. It’s made of shadowy velvet, and its Elain’s favorite sound.

“Never,” Elain feels her smile reach her eyes as she looks up to Azriel. He’s dressed in his flying leathers, hair windblown, and cheeks reddened by the wind.

The Shadowsinger claims the spot across from her. Within seconds, a fae arrives to take his order and fetch him something to drink. Living in Velaris was like being some kind of celebrity for the Inner Circle; the people worshipped them, valued them for everything they did. Azriel was considered no differently, even if he felt that he should be, because of the skills he provided.

“How was your trip?” Elain says after a while. She’s learned that Azriel is prone to quietness a long time ago, that he’s perfectly content to sit with her in silence rather than initiate a conversation. Most often, the female doesn’t mind that about him, but sometimes, Elain just wishes to hear Azriel speak.

His amber eyes look up from where he was staring into space. Elain watches as his mind works, filtering out precisely what he wants to say, and she waits. It’s not that Azriel is trying to hide something from her, just that he’s trying to decide on the right words. He’s always honest with her, even if it's brutal.

“Frustrating, but it couldn’t be helped,” Azriel says after a moment. He’s vague with the details purposefully, and Elain remembers then where they are, surrounded by dozens of fae with excellent hearing.

“Oh,” Elain says, apologetically. “Sorry. I should have asked—here.”

“It’s alright, Elain. I don’t mind,” Azriel tells her, not unkindly. “But we’re ahead of it now, and that is what matters.”

Elain nods. They fall back into silence. Then Mor slides into the booth, leaning heavily on Azriel and grinning with mischief.

“No,” Azriel says flatly, except it sounds a little bit like a plea. Elain giggles.

Cassian slides into the seat beside Elain, mirroring Mor’s grin. “Don’t be a sour puss, Azzie. Dance with us!”

Azriel glowers into his drink, pretending not to hear his brother. Elain laughs more despite herself. She really likes grumpy Azriel.

“What do you say, Az?” Elain asks, eyes bright. “Up for a dance with me?”

To her surprise, Azriel says yes. Mor and Cassian cheer in victory.

They spend the rest of the evening, dancing and drinking. Morrigan keeps the energy up, and Cassian is sure to make certain that no one ever finds themselves without something to drink. Elain is dizzy with it, with everything. The drink, the dancing, the happy and buzzing energy. She smiles so hard that her face aches with the effort; when she looks to Azriel, she finds him looking similarly.

As the dawn begins to rise, the city of Velaris starts to find its peace. Partygoers begin to drift home if they haven’t already, and Elain is surprised to find herself still out as the first hints of the morning light begin to appear. She doesn’t think she’s ever stayed out all night.

Morrigan and Cassian have both disappeared, and so, Elain looks to Azriel to say her goodbyes. She’s pleased to find him reluctant to let her go.

“Let me walk you home,” Azriel suggests. His eyes are brighter than Elain thinks she’s ever seen them, and in the fading night, Azriel’s face is more expressive than ever. Elain credits the drink for that.

She accepts his offer, knowing that he wouldn’t have allowed her to refuse anyway. Azriel was ever the gentleman—gentlemale? Even after all this time, Elain’s human phrases refused to leave her.

She smiles shyly when he offers his arm to her, courtly in a way that the Night Court rarely plays. Elain tries not to blush too hard at the contact; she knows he can see it, can hear her heartbeat pick up speed. When Azriel places his free hand over hers, where it lies on his arm, Elain thinks she might just die from longing.

They meander throughout the city, taking their time getting back to Elain’s apartment. As they cross over a bridge, the seer stops, releasing her grip on Azriel’s arm and leaning over the railing of the bridge to watch the calm, blue waters below.

“I love this place,” Elain says softly, perhaps still a bit drunk. She feels Azriel still where he stands to her side, and when she looks to him for an explanation, Elain finds him watching her, not the river or city before them. His expression is, as ever, indecipherable.

Then: “You’re beautiful.”

Azriel’s breathes the words like a prayer, soft and reverent. Of all the reactions that Elain thinks Azriel might be expecting, they aren’t the one he gets.

“Oh, stop,” Elain bursts into giggles. It definitely a side effect of how much she’s had to drink tonight. The giggling is amused, a little panicked. “You’re drunk.”

“I am,” Azriel agrees, stepping into Elain’s space. He brushes a lock of her hair, misplaced from all the dancing, back behind her ear. The little gesture steals all the breath from her lungs. At least it stops the giggling.

“And in the morning, when I’m sober, you’ll still be beautiful.” The male continues. His voice is so soft and low, and when Azriel brushes his thumb across her lips, Elain can’t fight the shiver that runs through her. “I just won’t be honest enough to tell you.”

“Az…” Elain sighs his name. It’s the only word that doesn’t escape her at this moment. Her eyes drop to his lips without her permission. The male in question gives her a wry smile, and then his hand drops away, too soon for Elain’s liking. He nods in the direction of her apartment.

“Come, let’s get you home,” Azriel’s face is less open than it was before as he begins to rebuild his walls. Elain mourns the loss immediately, but she follows after him just the same.

At the entrance to her building, Azriel holds the door for her, but before he can bid her a good night, Elain cuts him off with a confession of her own, a finger to his lips.

“I think you’re beautiful, too,” she tells him, valiantly fighting off the blush that threatens her cheeks. “And I am drunk, as well. Far more drunk than I think I’ve ever been in my life,” she shoots him a glare at the sound his chuckle, “but I won’t be tomorrow—later today—when I tell you, again, just how _beautiful_ I think you are.”

Azriel’s hazel eyes are wide with surprise. Emboldened by his reaction, Elain leaves him there, stunned on the doorstep behind her.

•••

Elain finds him later in the day, surrounded by their family and friends. Morrigan is unjustly bright and sparkly, and Cassian is too loud for the seer’s liking. Rhys and Feyre seem momentarily capable of keeping their hands off one another, one sitting with his boisterous brother and the other curled up with Mor.

Azriel is staring into the fire, ignoring his family’s attempts to rile a reaction out of him. Mor shoots Elain a pleading look.

“He’s been like this all morning, Ellie,” Mor pouts, and Feyre giggles. “Snap him out of it—you always manage.”

“Yeah,” Cassian grunts. “He won’t tell us what’s got his feathers ruffled.”

“He’s upset with himself,” Elain tells them, earning more than one curious look from their family. Mor’s mouth drops open in suspense. “Because he got too drunk last night, and he told me that he thinks I’m beautiful.”

Elain watches as Azriel ceases to breathe. Cassian snickers, while Rhys darts his gaze back and forth between the Shadowsinger and the seer, riveted.

“Is that all?” Feyre asks like it’s the most unsurprising, inoffensive thing ever.

“No,” Elain tilts her head, waits for Azriel’s honey eyes to look up to her. She sends a smile in his direction, watching the glimmer of hope that sparks there. He thought she’d forget, Elain realizes.

“I told him I thought he was beautiful, too,” Elain whispers. “Very beautiful.”

Azriel smiles, fully and happily, and Elain thinks that, perhaps, this is the most beautiful he's ever looked.

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this [prompt](https://corvidprompts.tumblr.com/post/189903703385/youre-beautiful-oh-stop-xe).


End file.
